What's in a Name?
by RobinL
Summary: Oneshot Babe fluff. Steph contemplates the many meanings of Babe.


Author: Robin L

Title: What's in a Name?

Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual suggestion.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: I am just playing with JE's chess pieces, I own and make nothing. Thanks to William Shakespeare for the title.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks.

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"Babe."

He was a man of few words, but it still amazed me how he could make that one syllable convey so many things.

Exasperation. Okay, sometimes I did things that were a little less than smart. I could be stubborn and I had a one-track mind and it, occasionally, got me into trouble. Trouble for a regular person was a flat tire or a bounced check. Trouble for me meant explosions, kidnaping and gunshot wounds. And, I usually refused to carry my gun. My gun was sitting, right now, in my cookie jar. That really bugged him... which was part of the fun of leaving it behind. Plus, he had more than enough weapons on his person for the both of us. He would give his head a little shake, my nickname said low and soft and with a little disbelief. Then he'd give me another gun or a new car or bail me out and I'd vow to myself to do better next time so I wouldn't need him to bail me out.

Admiration. Then there were the times that I didn't screw-up, where I did a good job, connected the dots, solved the riddle, took out the bad guy. These were the times when he was proud of me. His eyes would be warm and soft, shining with it. My name shimmered with it, causing a warm glow to spread all the way to my toes. In those moments, his respect for me made me feel invincible, ten feet tall and my dream of being Wonder Woman was finally realized, if only for that moment.

Intimidation. When he wanted to get his way, though, he could make me quake in my really cute FMPs. He would never hurt me. I knew that and he knew that I knew that. But when he was worried about me, he wasn't afraid to try to make me afraid. His jaw would set, his mouth in a tight line and the word would emerge through gritted teeth. In those moments, I had a inkling of what his skips saw and thanked my lucky stars that he loved me. That's why his intimidation tactics rarely worked. A shiver of fear would scuttle through my body, quickly followed by my spine stiffening in mulish resistance. This is also why his strong-arming techniques usually melted into something hotter, more passionate pretty quickly. I was much more malleable when the blood was rushing away from my brain.

Flirtation. In public, he would walk up behind me, put his large, warm hand on the nape of my neck and breathe my sobriquet in my ear, causing the fine hair on my arms to rise along with my pulse rate. He wasn't big on public displays of affection, but he liked to tease me... and my friends. He got a thrill out of making Connie and Lula fan themselves and look at me with envy. He also liked to leave me weak-kneed and wanting more. This wasn't difficult to do. Pretty much looking at him made me weak-kneed.

Infatuation. There were times when he was deep in me, when the place where he ended and I began was a blurry thing. His eyes would be dark, chocolate pools, his brow dotted with sweat, his weight deliciously pressing into me. Our passion was an all-consuming fire, fueled by the dangerous lives we led, tempered by tender love. My name, ripped from deep in his soul endowed me with power and filled me with awe all at once.

Affection. In quiet moments, he would stand near me, his heat soaking through my clothing, his fingers playing with my curls and he would smile at me. A real, genuine, smile that transformed him from mercenary hunter to a beautiful specimen of carefree and caring man, the man that existed underneath the scary, bad-ass from Stark street. This was a side he hid well and sometimes seemed embarrassed to possess at all. But if he spoke my name when he was feeling like this, I knew that he loved me from my edges to my center and everywhere in between.

Devotion. My favorite, though, was when he spoke it as he had just a moment ago. As if I was water after forty years in the desert, as though I was a ray of sun after forty days and forty nights of rain, as if I was the very air he breathed. The look he wore told me he'd worship at my altar, until his dying day... be it tomorrow, the next day, or a day in the far distant future. When he spoke it this way, my heart constricted and I wondered what I'd done to deserve this awesome man.

And here we were. He was on one knee in front of me, holding in his hand a small velvet box that was opened to reveal a large, winking diamond. And he'd just asked me to devote the rest of my life to him.

Well, actually, he'd just said, "Babe." But, I knew what he meant.


End file.
